


Mission Impawsible:  Ghost's Protocol

by Alzerak



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (also because they want to), (her Wolf Bits), And a sibling kink, And the situation presents itself, Blow Jobs, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ghost is the mastermind, Half-Sibling Incest, Jon is tied up., Jon may or may not have a panty kink, Light Bondage, Sansa uses weapons of mass arousal, They both have a Stark kink, They're both filthy, fucking for the North, hella thirsty, or so they think, sansa is thirsty, slight Breeding Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alzerak/pseuds/Alzerak
Summary: When his master returns with a dangerous scent upon him, Ghost must ensure that he finds his way back to the mistress and their pack.





	Mission Impawsible:  Ghost's Protocol

After a gruelling several hours in which the organisations were made for Daenerys and her armies to be settled around Winterfell, Jon finally managed to extricate himself from the greedy clutches of the Dragon Queen, proclaiming his desire to change his clothes after their journey. Jon made his way to his chambers and found a set of fine garments folded neatly on his bed, bearing the unmistakeable craftsmanship of Sansa Stark; clearly, despite her displeased demeanour as Daenerys Targaryen hung around him, she clearly still held him in regard, Stark direwolves embroidered in the garments. Jon removed his clothing he had been travelling in, before washing his body down with a sponge to remove most of the dirt and grime he had built up. After drying off, he reached for the breeches that Sansa had given him and out of the corner of his eye, noticed something small fall out of their folded form.

_His master was back, but the smell of danger lingered around him. His master would not visit his mistress’s den. Perhaps he was confused by the new scent - a small token from the mistress would have to suffice to bring him back to her._

_Now master would be able to smell Mistress and would return to her side, and all would be right._

A pair of undergarments fell to the ground, almost in slow motion; they were clearly feminine, a delicate arrangement of silk and lace. Jon bent over to retrieve them, his mind whirring. Clearly, they had to be Sansa’s - the sewing bore her characteristics, with direwolves and trout running across the lace hem at the top. Sansa must have accidentally placed the pair with his clothes.

Well, there was nothing for Jon to do but to try and place them back in her chambers without her knowing - Jon did not want to embarrass her for an understandable accident. Fortunately, with the evening meal in full swing, having begun earlier and continuing in the night, the corridors were mercifully empty as Jon arrived at the Lords Chambers. Jon carefully clicked the door open.

Finding the room dark, Jon was encouraged. Sansa would be holding court downstairs, so Jon quietly moved to her drawers - if someone happened to pass by her Chambers, Jon did not want anyone, least of all Daenerys, to find out about his presence in Sansa’s chambers.

Jon tried to quietly open Sansa’s drawers, hoping to store her undergarments away surreptitiously, but they creaked ominously. Jon paused, thinking he had heard something, before everything suddenly tumbled around him and Jon felt blood rush to his head as he found himself immobilised, hanging upside-down with his arms bound. 

Suddenly, candlelight flared around him as he swivelled around to face a dripping wet Sansa Stark, who clutched a small dagger in one hand whilst her other moved in a strange manner, as she wore a bathrobe loosely tied around her waist.

Sansa merely blinked, and Jon groaned in defeat as her gaze moved to his hand which still held her undergarments.

“Oh,” Sansa began simply. “I wondered where they had gone.”

There was no other way to describe it. Sansa _sauntered_ forward, placing her dagger on her dresser as she gently removed her undergarments from Jon’s permissive grip.

“Sansa,” Jon attempted to began to explain and apologise. “I’m sor-”

“You should be.” Sansa chastised softly. “It is important for the Lady of Winterfell to know her inventories, and it will not do for items to be absconded with without her knowledge.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” Jon began foolishly, wishing her to know that he was not in the habit of stealing her underwear, but inadvertently professing not only his guilt, but lack of shame about his habits. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you.”

Sansa frowned at him, stepping forward and Jon saw that she pulled up the underwear beneath her bathrobe. Just that action was enough for vivid visualisations to flood Jon’s mind, his face flushing with mortification. 

“Your journey to Dragonstone must have been worse than I expected.” Sansa reached a cool hand to rest against his forehead for a precious split-second, before cruelling withdrawing it. “You sneak into my chambers and take my underwear and you believe that _I_ am the one who will be embarrassed. The heat must have addled your mind. Still, to put your mind at ease…”

Sansa untied the sash around her waist and shrugged herself out of her nightgown. Jon could not help the expletive he uttered in response.

“Fuck, Sansa!” 

Her body was absolute perfection; Jon began with his eyes trailing up her statuesque legs, to the smallclothes that Jon’s imagination had done _no justice_ for, past the expanse of the ivory skin of her body, the impeccable swells of her breasts, crowned by peaks of pink perfection - Jon could not help the involuntary swipe of his tongue at the sight of Sansa’s breasts - to Sansa’s face, beautiful as it always was, but radiating a power that Jon had never yet seen from her before.

Sansa seemed to pull a chair out from the ether, although Jon knew he was not aware of his surroundings at the moment, such the draw of Sansa’s body. She sat herself down in front of him, her legs closed.

“As you can see, I have no need to be embarrassed about anything. As a token of my good faith, I have offered you something that you want. If you wish for more,” Sansa paused meaningfully. “You have to give me what I want - honest answers. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” Jon replied, and Sansa’s legs opened to reveal the undergarments once again. “But it’s a misunderstanding, I didn’t-”

Sansa shook her head sadly. “Jon, I’d much rather you were perverted than idiotic. Please do not insult my intelligence. You were caught red handed.”

Jon made to protest, but Sansa silenced him with a look.

“First question,” Sansa began ominously. “Are you comfortable?”

Jon frowned back at her. Truthfully, his own comfort was in the back of his mind, and thinking on it, he wasn’t _uncomfortable,_ at least not due to his physical status.

“It is unusual.” Jon answered, remembering Sansa’s request for honesty. “But not bad.”

“I shall endeavour to ask my questions swiftly.” Sansa continued. “Daenerys Targaryen seemed quite taken by you.”

Sansa paused meaningfully, and Jon did not answer, instead he waited for her to continue. “Almost as if she considered herself to be your lover.”

Uncertain if Sansa spoke rhetorically, Jon kept silent, fighting a losing battle to stop his eyes roaming over her gorgeous body. Sansa had to notice, for momentarily, a smirk graced her lips before she returned to her questioning with a more serious demeanour. 

“Would you agree with my assessment?” 

Jon nodded.

“And do you want me to be right about that?”

“I hope so.” Jon answered. Sansa frowned, standing up and stepping close to Jon.

“You hope that Daenerys Targaryen considers herself to be your lover?” Sansa asked, running her hands across Jon’s body, subtly adjusting the straps, binds and ropes that suspended him in a manner that Jon still could not fathom. “She is a very beautiful woman, that is true, yet she is clearly no lover of any talent, if her target smuggles himself away for a quick session with his sister’s undergarments.”

Jon was not sure how to respond. Sansa could not expect him to completely know the mindset of Daenerys Targaryen, so she must not be asking him a question. 

“Yet she had a certain possessiveness about her, as if she had already lain with you…”

This, clearly, was a question, one Jon was ashamed to answer, but he nodded.

Sansa breathed heavily. “I might be disappointed, if I didn’t understand…” This time, the path of Sansa’s hand pressed against the garments that she had sewn for him. “She does have a strong presence, and it is only natural that a man with needs would gravitate to the most beautiful woman around.”

Sansa’s hand was now teetering close to Jon’s waist, dangerously near to his cock, which was continuing to harden against his will. 

“A wiser man would pursue easier quarry, finding satisfaction in beautiful women that would not be of such high standing, although the challenge presents an allure of its own, I would presume.”

“It wasn’t because of that!” Jon protested. 

Sansa lifted her hand to hover over Jon’s crotch. “No? Because I am more observant than most, and I saw how you interacted. _She_ desires your presence. I find it much harder to judge you, but from my observations, you had little positive reaction to her outside direct interactions between you and her, so if you aren’t interested in her for her personality…” Sansa trailed off meaningfully. 

Jon wondered if he should try to continue to mask his true feelings for Daenerys from Sansa. _I shouldn’t_ , Jon thought to himself, though he had hoped that if things went so wrong, Sansa would be shielded through ignorance. Now, if she believed that he gave the North away to warm his cock, perhaps she deserved the truth.

“I wonder,” Sansa stepped away from him, momentary relief that she had not touched his almost turgid manhood, which melted away as Sansa sat back down and ran her fingers softly along the outside of her undergarments, gently caressing them against her cunt. “If your condition can be manipulated to give the North away, can it work the other way?”

Jon could not answer even if wished, transfixed as he was by Sansa’s hand, which now slipped beneath her undergarments as she spoke. 

“How did it happen?” Sansa asked acerbically. “A romantic boat-ride after she _saved you_ from that gods-dammed Wight Hunt? Were you _oh so grateful_ to your beautiful saviour that you just had to kiss her sweet lips for the first time?” 

Jon took a fortifying breath to try and steady his arousal as he tried to answer Sansa. “It was simple, yet complicated. But it began after we departed from King’s Landing on our journey to Winterfell.”

“That’s what is always said.” Sansa arose, stepping to Jon once again. “Yet you have answered, and therefore you have earned a reward. Ironically,” Sansa gestured to her covered cunt. “What was once a reward is probably now a punishment.” Jon’s head nodded almost imperceptibly, giving Sansa permission, and she reached out to his crotch and felt it hard under his garments.

“It seems as though you have forgotten to take care of yourself - perhaps you have not needed to with _her_ , so I’ll ask you a simple question. Have you spent in my undergarments before?” 

Jon flushed a deep crimson.

“It is a simple question. Have I been walking around with your seed coating my cunny?”

“No, Sansa, I would never!” 

Sansa tutted. “We have gone way past this, Jon. You have earned a reward for answering, but since you were not completely honest, I shall have to hold back some of your reward. At this, Sansa unbuttoned Jon’s breeches and pulled his hard cock free, studying it carefully. 

“Clearly you washed after your assignation with my undergarments.” Sansa ran her fingertips delicately up and down his cock. “Did you expect a rendezvous with your lover afterwards?”

“I did need a wash, yes,” Jon confessed, “but I was aware of the possibility that _she_ would wish for my presence...”

“She doesn’t seem to be the type to care when she takes something that _isn’t hers,”_ Sansa’s eyes flashed with anger. “Clearly I have to teach her a lesson, but first, I must ensure that you do not have a reason to gravitate to her.” At this, Sansa enveloped Jon’s cock in her warm and wet mouth, before she began to move back and forth vigorously as her tongue swirled, a merciless assault trying to draw out his release. Between the tactile sensation of Sansa’s licking, sucking and bobbing along his cock, and the visual stimuli of her perfect breasts moving slightly along with her, to her finely crafted underwear hiding an even greater treasure beneath, Jon found his release was quickly approaching, his dick tightening under Sansa’s attention. With a strangled cry, Jon warned her just in time for Sansa to release his cock which now ached with his own seed ready to release.

“Where?” Sansa asked simply, repeating the question at Jon’s dumbfounded face. “My tits? You’ve been careful with my undergarments, would you like to finally spread your seed upon them? Inside my mouth?”

Jon was a mess of arousal and conflicted desires. “Where - wherever you want, Sansa.”

Sansa replaced her lips around the tip of Jon’s cock, sucking fervently, drawing out his release in squirts into her mouth and down her throat. Sansa followed by drawing his cock fully into her mouth to ensure was spent completely, thoroughly milking all the seed from his cock, before she pulled on the contraption so Jon’s head rose next to her. “I want you to remember me sucking your cock and swallowing your seed when we sit down to dinner,” Sansa instructed, before letting Jon down gently, reaching for her dagger to cut some ropes after she did so, with Jon, still bound, now seated in the chair that Sansa had sat in previously. 

Sansa pulled another chair out to replace the one she had just given to Jon, seating herself upon it.

“Time is of the essence,” Sansa began. “And hopefully your mind is clearer now, and although our business is not done, you do need time to recover…”

“Tell me why you gave the North away.”

“I had no choice.” 

Sansa cupped her breasts in her hands. “No choice?” Sansa cocked her head to the side. “So your lover refused to help save your people from annihilation?”

“She promised to aid us before I promised her our allegiance.”

Sansa looked disappointed by this fact, but still rewarded him by plucking her own nipples and moaning softly, stirring his half-soft, half-hard cock once again. 

“It doesn’t look good from my angle, Jon. I’m racking my brain trying to justify your choice to swear us to Daenerys Targaryen, and each theorem has both justifiable and selfish reasons. I do not it is in your nature to be callous, and you must know how important our self-determination is, so to give it up, either you have immense faith in the wonders of a Queen who came across the sea, or you had no other choice.”

Sansa’s hands dipped beneath her undergarments as she spoke, clearly playing with her cunny beneath the only garment she wore. 

“I would be more inclined to believe the former if your new queen displayed any modicum of statecraft.” 

Jon huffed, clenching his firsts against his restraints. “You’re right.” Jon admitted. “I had no other choice.” 

Sansa sighed, standing up and bending over as she slid her undergarments down her legs, before sitting back down, legs tightly pressed together, denying Jon any glimpse at her cunt, but allowing a tantalising look at the vivid red curls beneath her stomach. 

“If that is true, why did you take her as your lover?”

If she had not just swallowed his seed down her throat, Jon would have been taken aback at the hurt in Sansa’s voice.

“Surely you must have known how it would have looked, no matter the truth, and although you have hidden your feelings for her reasonably well, she is a different matter, and seems to have no guile or cleverness about the matter…”

“I had hoped to be able to influence her,” Jon admitted. “I know it doesn’t matter, as you say, but…”

“It matters to me,” Sansa insisted softly, opening her legs to Jon’s gaze, revealing her cunt covered by red hair, the treasure beneath momentarily revealed as her fingers stroked up and down her most private place. “My duty is to the North,” Sansa continued, her pink centre now revealed to Jon’s gaze. “And you are much the North as anyone. I need to know _why._ ”

“It is better to have her as an ally than an enemy.” Jon responded simply, for it was the truth in his mind. “She is not as good, nor as competent as she claims, nor is she a benevolent saviour as her people proclaim. Perhaps it is the best aspect, perhaps the worst aspect of hers, is that she tries to be.”

Though Jon was opening up, or may haps because she didn’t want to disturb him, Sansa continued to play with her cunny as Jon spoke. 

“You were right about Cersei. From what I could tell, Daenerys had little talent for strategy, and Cersei outmanoeuvred her at every turn. Daenerys was saved by sheer numbers.”

Sansa’s eyes flashed hotly at the mention of Cersei. “Yet you still trust Cersei to keep her word when you’ve sworn yourself to her enemy! You nearly died on that gods-damned Wight Hunt for no reason!”

Jon seemed unable to understand. 

“Gods, Jon!” Sansa cried out, imploring him to understand. “Cersei lied. If anyone comes, it will be to defeat whoever survives.”

But Jon was not shocked or confused, he just nodded grimly. “The Wight Hunt, the meeting in the Dragonpit, proclaiming my allegiance to Daenerys - all of it, was never for Cersei. It was to bring _Daenerys_ north.”

It was Sansa’s turn to blink with surprise and shock. 

“You were right the whole time, Sansa. It was a trap. Their whole structure is a mess; Daenerys has very little grasp on reality but she does have the strongest army in the world, and dragons, both of which we need if we are to survive.”

Sansa began pacing back and forth in front of Jon as he spoke.

“So I eventually decided that I had to get her on my side, no matter the cost. Better for you all to live under her rule then the die under the onslaught of the dead. I hope to be able to influence her.”

“Yes,” Sansa seemed almost convinced. “But do you love her?”

“Sansa, how could you think that? After everything I’ve said?”

Sansa flushed with embarrassment, and Jon’s cock twitched as the red flush spread over the tops of her breasts. “You can still love someone even if they’re not perfect.” 

“Daenerys Targaryen is far from perfect.” Jon murmured. “Whatever I do, it is for the North, and more importantly, for you - you, Arya and Bran.” 

For the first time since he entered her chambers, Sansa genuinely smiled, reaching over to her dagger, but Jon shook his head. 

“If you free me, I may very well ravish you, should you not deny me.” Jon confessed. “It is safer to keep me tied down.”

Sansa straddled his lap, leading to his cock resting against her stomach. “What - what if I want that?” Once again, Sansa blushed. “I know you must feel at least partially the same way, stealing my undergarments.”

Jon sighed, knowing that he must confess. “Truthfully, that was wild coincidence. I have never needed anything to imagine you.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and she moaned, swiping the outside of her cunny up and down the outside of Jon’s shaft. “What?”

“I’ve dreamed of you for months - years, even, Sansa.” Jon admitted. “It was more innocent, yet still wrong at the beginning, but evolved to me taking myself in hand to wretched thoughts of touching, smelling and tasting you.”

Sansa bucked her hips and buried her face in Jon’s neck as she asked. “You spent so long away from me that you needed something to remind you of me?”

“I found them in the clothes you left for me.” 

Sansa pulled back, blinking with confusion. “I know I never put them anywhere near your clothes.”

“I knew it had to be an accident, so I thought you’d be in the Great Hall, so I decided to slip in and replace them so as not to embarrass you…”

Sansa paused to think. “I would have been, had Ghost not bumped into Arya, Daenerys and I whilst covered in mud, and astonishingly, only dirtied me whilst leaving the other two untouched…” 

“You don’t think?” Jon asked. 

“It sounds ridiculous, but what else explains it?” 

Thinking of _Ghost_ stealing Sansa’s underwear and manipulating the situation so that Jon and Sansa would come together in such a fashion was so ludicrous that it should have extinguished their libido, but ‘should’ did not faction in Sansa Stark’s naked body and slick cunt writhing against Jon Snow’s hard cock. 

“I’m glad for it, I should have found a way to tell you right away.” Jon admitted. “We’re stronger together, and you have done so well ruling her. I’d say in my absence, but you did much the same despite me making it difficult when I was around.”

Sansa stiffened above Jon, who realised his mistake and yearned to comfort her with touch.

“Gods, I’m sorry, Sansa, I-”

“Please, Jon,” Sansa begged. “Please let me fuck you!”

“Yes, Sansa, Gods yes!” Jon replied. “Anything you want.”

Sansa grasped his cock to guide it into her heavenly cunt, her cunny tight, warm and slick with her arousal as she slid down him at an achingly slow pace. 

“Gods, yes Jon!” Jon leaned forward as far as he could to swallow Sansa’s moan into his mouth as she increased the tempo with which she fucked him. “I missed you so much, I woke up dreading that I would hear news from a raven that you had died.”

As much as he could, Jon tried to match the rhythm of her strokes, hoping that she found as much pleasure from him and his cock as he did from her, twisting and writhing about him, her cunny soaking wet as she slammed herself up and down his manhood. 

“I’m here, Sansa. No matter what, I’ll never want to leave you. I love you so much.” 

“Fuck, Jon!” Sansa moaned, her cunny fluttering around his cock, not yet milking another release. “Will you spend inside my cunt?” Sansa begged. “I know I’m your sister.” Jon bucked up into her. “But I need it. I need your seed inside me, dripping out of my cunt as I sit in the Great Hall and play host. I need you to know we belong to each other.”

“It is so fucking wrong, Sansa,” Jon responded with a growl. “That I want to lick and taste you, and fuck my seed into my own sister’s sweet cunt. That I want to nip and suck at your breasts. But the only thing that could stop me, not men nor gods, the _only thing,_ is you.”

Sansa arced herself to press her breasts in Jon’s face, who eagerly accepted the offering into his mouth, licking and sucking around her pink nipples before taking them into his mouth with gentle suction. “Anything, Jon, just please!”

“I-I need to taste you.” Sansa kissed Jon, cutting him off with her acquiescence to his desires. Jon broke away. “Please, let me sup on your cunny, Sansa. I cannot spend in you unless I do.”

Sansa’s quim slicked off of Jon’s cock with a faint pop, before she balanced herself above his face, the contraption she had used to trap Jon now offering a way for her to balance. She lowered her cunny to Jon’s mouth, who began to devour her with gentleness and gusto, a paradox of passion and restraint. 

“My cock is so close, Sansa.” Jon said between sucks, nips, licks and thrusts of his tongue. “I could cum solely from eating your cunt, sweet sister.”

“Not yet!” Sansa commanded hotly, reaching a hand down to play with her clit, trusting the other to hold her steady. Jon continued to slurp on the juices of her arousal as he tongue-fucked her cunny, another zenith of a peak surged through Sansa and she slid down his body whilst the aftershocks of her peak rocked through her.

Sansa engulfed Jon’s cock inside her cunt, before she bounced up and down Jon’s throbbing cock, building herself back up again from a near-peak state. “Fuck yes, Jon, fuck a Stark into your sister!” At these words, Jon broke, his seed pumping into and being pumped out by Sansa Stark’s pulsating cunt. As her cunny milked and drew every last drop of his seed, Sansa leaned in and kissed Jon, nipping his lips as he eagerly responded. After a few moment, Sansa ruefully stood up, and Jon was half ashamed that his cock almost immediately responded to the sight of his seed starting to drip from her cunny, before Sansa pulled her undergarments up her legs to secure it against her cunt. 

“If I let you go, will you promise not to ravage me?” Sansa asked impishly. 

“With great restraint, and against my desires.” Jon replied, and Sansa undid his restraints with a smile. “Impressive, though I’ll ask you how it works another time.”

Jon caught Sansa’s eye gazing at his not-completely-flaccid cock. 

“You’d think me wanton, Jon, but after all that I still desire you. You seem like you haven’t spent everything - should I suck you off to finish?” Sansa reached out for Jon’s cock, but he gently took her wrist. “I am spent, but my cock sees you and doesn’t care. It would just be a most exquisite torture.”

The two dressed, Jon assisting Sansa where she needed it, although most of her garments were designed so she could dress herself. 

Knowing that they could not be seen to exit together, Jon waited until the coast was clear, slipping away and taking a route around the castle before meeting up with Sansa in front of witnesses, and entering the Great Hall, to see Arya holding court, Bran alongside her and a clean Ghost at her feet.

“Jon!” Arya called out in greeting. “You missed quite the show.” Arya reached down to ruffle Ghost’s fur. “This naughty little man dirtied Sansa’s dress. He should be punished.” Arya tickled Ghost’s side, and the direwolf collapsed on his side before bouncing back to his feet to accept Sansa’s pats. “No!” Sansa replied. “Ghost is a very good boy!”

Arya stood up, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “If I got a single speck of dust on Sansa’s clothes she’d banish me beyond the wall.” 

The hall burst out in laughter. “Well, you’ve been great, but now the mantle of wrangling you all falls on more capable shoulders.”

Sansa took her spot as the Lady of Winterfell, Jon alongside her. Beneath them, Ghost curled at their feet

_The scents mingle. The pack is together. All is well._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for ruining this prompt, those who were hankering for a better person to use it.
> 
> And by sorry, I of course mean you're welcome.


End file.
